If Any Mischief Follow
by BuJyo
Summary: Let's see...take a little Mary/Marshall...add a little Faber...mix in some inappropriate behavior...and you have some interesting reactions! A story of...er...Biblical proportions! Rated T for language and violence.
1. Wait for it

***** Ah, Faber. Our favorite character to hate, and maim, and humiliate, and...well, you get the picture. What if Mexico was a huge cluster? What if Mary had the epiphany we all hope she would have and came back home to the one man who truly mattered? What if it worked out? And...the real question...what if Faber came back to town? Well, my friends, let's find out! Are you ready? *****

*****It is with utmost gratitude, respect and love that I give due props to Roar526, DispatchVampire and Rj_lupins_kat for their essential help and hope on this story! You know I couldn't do it without you ladies! Wouldn't want to, either :)*****

*****Every other day will bring a new chapter! And, please, it's fic and I own nothing but the computer I type it on. Put the lawyer away.*****

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_**"And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe."**_

_**- Exodus 21:23-25**_

_**"Our sense of revenge is as exact as our mathematical faculty, and until both terms of the equations are satisfied we can not get over the sense of something left undone"**_

_**- Anonymous**_

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Three weeks after gallivanting off to Mexico, Mary had shown up at his door well past normal visiting hours in a shirt too cool for the season and a six pack of beer. He hadn't even known she was back in town. He stood, puzzled, with a crossword magazine gripped in one hand and lamb's wool slippers that had seen better days on his feet.

"Was I supposed to pick you up at the airport?" Marshall asked, feeling slightly vulnerable in his sweatpants and t-shirt.

"I've been thinking." Her hesitant gaze and self-conscious body language had him thinking about stronger libations in the cupboard.

Self preservation had never been his forte with Mary, and the survival skill eluded him once again as he invited her inside. She took over most of the couch with a lazy sprawl and used the hem of her sweatshirt to twist open a beer for them both before he even took his seat. Took a long pull from her own bottle before beginning the ritual destruction of the label.

Marshall perched on the edge of the recliner and accepted his bottle with a nod of thanks. He let the clock tick through a half cycle before prodding. "So…what mental preoccupation brings you to my humble abode?"

Mary shot him an irritated look. "I couldn't get it out of my head," she began, focused on lifting a corner of the label off the bottle. "What you said in the office. About cowboys, and messy, and thinking."

Marshall drank about half his beer in one gulp as he used the remote to turn down the music. He had a feeling he was going to need to hear every word. _On the other hand_, he mused for a moment, _maybe drowning her out would be wiser_. He saw her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and noticed her fingers shake slightly. He turned the music off.

"It was like one of those songs you just can't stop singing, you know?" Mary chuckled dryly and glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to her beer. "In my head, just repeating over and over. I couldn't get away." She sighed and leaned back. "Seems to be true with a lot of things you've been telling me lately. They just keep poking at me and prodding me. It's been more than a little annoying."

Marshall smiled slightly, still unable to gauge her mood and riding a small swell of uncertainty. "Are you here for clarification, then? Or maybe a cease and desist order?"

"I've been filing those since the day we met, numbnuts. You're obviously immune."

Oddly enough, the injection of snark settled his nerves. He watched her closely as she chewed on the inside of her cheek, just about able to hear the jumbled words he knew were chasing themselves in her brain. She was mentally stumbling and he needed to give her a clear place to stand. A focus.

"Mary," he asked, "what do you need?"

Mary looked up to stare at him for a long moment. The familiar planes of her face, hues of her hair and skin warmed him as always. But her eyes contained an element he was unfamiliar with. Something rarely seen and not to be ignored. Fear.

She patted the seat next to her on the couch and Marshall smoothly moved to take the spot. Watched her as she rolled her lips between her teeth with indecision. Waited.

"There are no guarantees in life, are there, Marshall? Especially when people are involved."

He swallowed. Worded his answer carefully. "Some people are more…steady than others, Mare. More invested in working out the details and hanging in there when things go a little haywire. There're no money back guarantees, no, but there are some damn fine long term warranties if you just look hard enough."

Mary stared at her beer bottle for a long moment, then gave him a shy sideways grin while she reached over to brush an imagined wrinkle from the knee of his pants.

"Okay," she began, blowing out a long breath, "I need you to listen to a story about an idiot…"

/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\

Marshall ran his fingers through her hair, continued across her shoulder to lightly stroke her neck and trace her collarbone. A purely feminine marker on the human body, the slightly bony protrusion drew many a male eye. The soft, thin skin covering it allowed for the discovery of the faint pulse beneath. Warm and delicate. A tactile treasure akin to wrists and earlobes that defined gender. A woman lay in his lap. A woman who reached up to capture his fingers with her own.

"That tickles, nitwit," Mary said gently. She shifted her attention from the game and lay back to look up at him. "And it usually means there's something on your mind."

She had learned his behaviors quickly. How he touched her…when he touched her. More attuned that he had expected and he now better understood her aversion to touch by others. She had never been given a chance to grow used to it as a child. Had never become comfortable with the intimacy of contact nor could she interpret it well. It was a disturbing distraction she chose to avoid.

Mary laced her fingers with his and used the other hand to explore the muscles in his forearm. Contact she now initiated more often and he smiled.

"Nothing much," Marshall finally answered. Lying would be futile. "A little concerned about you with Faber coming to town next week."

"Concerned about me, or you?" Mary countered, watching him carefully. "It's been nearly four months since I've seen the bastard. Trust me when I say the charm wore off long ago."

Marshall couldn't quell the twinge of insecurity that flickered in his gut, and it must have shown in his face. Mary turned towards him and reached up to wrap her hand around his neck.

"Marshall." She waited for him to look at her. "The man screwed at least one maid in the room I had invited him to stay in. I assure you, I will barely be able to refrain from shooting him the entire time he's here."

Her fingers played with his hair. Soothing and distracting. "I thought I was going to get to shoot him," he whined playfully.

"You can shoot him in the ass," Mary assured him, releasing his hand to wrap her other arm around his neck. "I've got another target in mind."

Marshall let his free hand drift down to caress her abdomen. "You are a vindictive woman, Miss Shannon."

Mary pulled him down to feather her lips against his. Whispered into his moan, "Don't you forget that, Mr. Mann."

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***** Yay! They're together :) See...no angsties here, just anticipation of something wonderous, my dear friends! Do you want more? Yeah, you know what I want...REVIEWS! *****

*****Oh! And one year ago today (10/3) I wrote and posted my first story on this site! You are all fabulous and I thank you many times over! *****


	2. The plot thickens

***** Dun dun dun...Faber's in da house! How *does* crapweasel act after being kicked out of Mary's bed? And what does Marshall learn? Can Mary remain loyal? Well, read on! *****

***** I'm amazed by the wonderously generous reviews for my first chapter! You are all THE BEST! *****

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_**"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that"**_

_**– William Shakespeare**_

_**According to what they have done, so will he repay wrath to his enemies and retribution to his foes; he will repay the islands their due.**_

_**– Isaiah 59: 17-19**_

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Special Agent Michael Faber stepped out of the elevator onto the sixth floor of the Sunshine Building to meet with a reception that made the January wind chill in Denver seem positively balmy. The anticipation of seeing Mary began to wane upon laying eyes on her partner. The one man entourage…the one man roadblock…the one man between him and the piece of ass that he couldn't stop thinking about for the last four months.

Marshall approached with a stony stare and a reluctant handshake. The greeting was just shy of being rude and Mike bristled as the prolonged, tightened grip that was delivered negated the false pleasantry which dropped from the tall man's lips. Immediately, the agent was looking past Marshall's shoulder to find something more pleasant to look at. She wasn't at her desk. Faber scowled.

Marshall watched Faber do a visual sweep for his partner with a barely concealed sneer. The man wasn't going to find fodder for his false affections today. Mary was hunkered down in Stan's office going over monthly stats and threat assessments for next month's trials. Marshall planned to have Faber in and out of the office before she emerged for even a fresh cup of coffee.

"We've got the conference room for an hour," Marshall said as he keyed the door for Faber's entry. "Shouldn't take that long to go over the case, and I've already done the prelim work for relocation so I won't keep you for that. A quick site visit to get the official agency okay, and I'll have you back on the road before dinner." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

Faber was now on guard. The frostiness from the marshal seemed to reach beyond the normal interagency dislike. More directed. Personal. Faber kept a wary eye on the man as they walked towards the far conference room. Mary had told him something…but how much?

"No need to rush, Inspector." Faber grinned without humor. "I don't need to be back in Denver for two days. Thought I might take in some of the sights while I'm here. Maybe visit a few old friends."

Marshall watched him flatly as he held open the conference room door. Stared hard at his back as the agent laid his files on the table. Mary had told him about Faber ferreting out her address. He envisioned himself sitting on the porch in the dark, shotgun across his knees. Locked and loaded. It was the first thought that had amused him all morning.

"Well, I'll make sure to point you in the right direction when we're done, Mike. Wouldn't want you to frequent any attractions that would be a waste of your time…or get lost."

"That's okay, Marshall." Faber's grin was tight. "I have a standing invitation for a personal tour. Just have to get in touch with the guide." The two men stared at each other for a brief moment, mental engines revving, before Marshall made a short gesture towards and open chair.

_This asshole raises my hackles more than Eps_, Marshall mused darkly as he took a seat across from the agent, purposefully positioning himself so the man would have his back to the main office. He was reminded of a cobra; smooth and seductive with that hypnotizing ability to charm its prey before it struck. He wondered if Faber ever realized it didn't work on other men. Probably not, as his career seemed to be the mongoose he continually fought…and lost.

After a few more aborted attempts at chit chat, Faber finally relented the higher ground to Marshall and pulled out his files with one last glance over his shoulder towards Mary's desk.

Twenty minutes later, Marshall's gaze was caught by Mary hurrying out of Stan's office with her cell pressed to her ear. The sound-proofing in the conference room kept Faber from noticing the activity, so Marshall watched his partner carefully while he kept his ears tuned to the agent's comments. She was now squinting at her computer screen while impatiently pushing keys. Irritated. Rushed. Still talking on the phone. Something was amiss.

At about the time he had decided to investigate, Stan emerged and signaled to him through the glass. Marshall stood and excused himself with an offhand invitation to Faber to help himself to coffee in the kitchen.

"Jesus," Mary hissed at no one in particular as she printed off some papers. "Does every adolescent male think with his dick instead of his brain?"

"Yes," answered Stan and Marshall in unison, their chorus causing her to pin both of them with one glare.

"Idiots," she murmured, shaking her head as she gathered the papers from the printer.

"Okay. Here's what I know. Tommy Forrest, son of Nathan Forrest, who is due to testify in six weeks at the Vago-Wood trial, has gone missing. Not just for a night, or a weekend, but for a whole week." She held up her hand as Marshall drew a breath to ask the obvious question. "No, I don't know why Nathan waited this long to call us…or anyone…but I suspect it has to do with the girl Tommy likely ran off with."

Marshall groaned and Stan rolled his eyes as Mary continued to spin a story of roiling hormones, family feuds and teenage angst inspired by authors past and present. At some point in her tale and appointment of duties, Faber sauntered out of the conference room, helped himself to a cup of coffee, and then stood with one hip against the kitchenette counter while he watched Mary. He waited until Marshall was involved in a phone call before he adjusted his tie and approached her desk.

"I knew you'd be mad for a while," Faber said softly, pitching his voice just for her, "but I didn't think a lover's spat would be grounds for the silent treatment for four months."

Mary froze mid-motion for just a moment, eyes narrowed, then resumed her note taking while refusing to look at him. "Agent Faber, as you can see, I'm fairly involved in an emergent situation at the moment."

Faber chuckled. "Oh, I see. Persona non-grata, am I? Okay, I deserve that, I suppose. But really, Kitten, don't you think we can be adults about this. Maybe talk? Over dinner?"

Mary put her pen down and shot him a dark look. "I have nothing to say to you. Not now, not ever. Get away from my fucking desk and put your ass back in the conference room."

Faber raised his hands with a patronizing wink and Mary clenched her jaw as she turned her attention back to the computer. She was more hostile than he had expected and he thought a conciliatory gesture may serve as an icebreaker. Spotting her half empty coffee cup, he reached over her file holder for the mug.

Marshall's head snapped up as Mary stood suddenly, one hand warding off Faber's reach while the other rested on her Glock. The agent looked surprised and slowly stepped back from the desk, hands held out to his sides. Marshall mumbled a goodbye into the phone and levered out of his chair.

"Maybe you ought to switch to decaf, Inspector?" Faber ineffectually joked. Mary's low growl was audible in the silence.

Marshall rounded his desk to herd Faber back into the conference room, watching Mary out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe you ought to let Inspector Shannon concentrate on the job at hand, Mike?"

Mary rolled her shoulders and stared out the windows for a minute before settling back into the chair. Glanced at him with a look of abject gratitude that he acknowledged with a minute nod. His attention was drawn back to the man entering the conference room.

"So," Faber drawled, "she's changed. A little more…uptight than I remembered."

Marshall set one hand on his hip as he rubbed his fingers across his mouth. There were pieces missing from this puzzle. Slowly dragging his gaze away from Mary, he chanced a glare at Faber, hoping his thoughts of dismemberment weren't too obviously conveyed.

"I think we're done for today," Marshall said, walking over to tuck papers back into folders. "Be back tomorrow morning around eight and I'll take you out to the safe house."

Faber shook his head and smiled faintly with the dismissal. The taller man's confusion was comforting, in a way. Mary may have given her partner a story, may even have painted him in a less than favorable light, but their parting conversation must've have left an impression. Marshall didn't know everything. Advantage, Faber.

He took the files from Marshall, ignoring the man's pointed look, and grabbed his coat from the rack. Turned to offer Marshall a grin and stir the hornet's nest.

"Any chance she'll be up for dinner later?"

Marshall gripped the back of the chair in front of him, wishing it was the agent's neck. Somehow, somewhere, he had lost the upper hand and it chafed unpleasantly. Faber could go to hell.

"I can safely say you'll want to make a reservation for one."

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Marshall was drifting off to sleep when the mattress dipped as Mary slid back into the bed. She fluffed the covers around them and he caught the scent of citrus, peppermint, and other olfactory reminders as to why he now lay in a supremely satisfied and liquidy lump on his side of the bed. He felt her breath on his shoulder, and her fingers briefly tangled in his chest hair before stretching out to rest over his sternum.

"I don't know, Cowboy," Mary murmured, smile evident in her tone. "I may have to go easier on you. Looks like I rode all the giddy-up right out of you."

Marshall grinned at the ceiling, then turned with a growl to grab her and pull her into his embrace. Mary giggled a sound meant only for him as he rubbed a light knuckle into her skull until she slapped at him. Tucking her head into his shoulder, he planted a kiss on her forehead as she wrapped one leg around his thigh.

"You going easy on me would be a crime against humanity. And when have I _ever_ run out of giddy-up, missy?"

"We-ell…you _are_ getting on in years," she teased slyly.

Marshall placed his hand over a sensitive spot on her rib cage and Mary grabbed a tuft of his chest hair. "This could get ugly," she chuckled.

He rumbled a laugh and squeezed her once to hear her squeak, then relented to just hold her against him.

The events of the day continued to weigh upon him, but the mundane irritations of witnesses behaving badly had faded with physical exertion and endorphin release. Mary's reaction to Faber's reach and her uncharacteristic brooding for the rest of the day, however, still irked him.

"Faber will be back tomorrow morning," he said quietly. She stiffened slightly. "Maybe you should just head out to Nathan's and skip the office."

"I'm not hiding from him, Marshall," she replied, offended. "He should be the one avoiding me, not the other way around."

He hummed agreement as he rubbed slow circles on her back. Replayed her reaction to the agent in his mind again.

"Are you going to tell me the whole story of what went down in Mexico, or am I going to have to imagine my own scenarios?" he questioned gently.

Mary pulled out of his embrace and he let her go. She propped herself up on her elbows and squinted at him in the dark. "I told you what happened in Mexico. It was disgusting and…embarrassing. The man makes me feel slimy and I don't want him near me."

"You flinched." He pushed.

"I was preoccupied, irritated, slightly on edge and he startled me." Mary laid on her stomach with her arms wrapped around her pillow and stared at him. Marshall rolled onto his side and stared back.

"Calling you on your BS," he prompted.

Mary took a deep breath, slowly closed her eyes and turned away from him. "Go to sleep, Marshall."

He was still staring at the back of her head a few minutes later when she reached back to pull his arm over her hip. He scooted in and tucked the covers around them with a sigh, his own eyes drifting closed as she leaned into him.

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***** Hmmmm...I suspect there may be more to the story? Faber ought to tread lightly, but gauntlet thrown or not, I don't think he understands the precariousness of his situation! Please REVIEW to let me know how I'm doing! And what do YOU think happened in Mexico? :) *****


	3. Whispers overheard

***** The question remains...what *did* happen in Mexico? Faber and Mary have it out, but will Marshall ever get some answers? *****

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_**No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and place.**_

_**– Meir Kahane**_

_**But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.**_

_**– Revelation 21:8**_

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Faber couldn't believe his luck as he entered the Marshal's office and saw Mary at her desk. Alone. Unaccompanied. He cast his gaze about for Marshall or Stan and saw neither immediately, only noted the faint conversation and occasional silhouette of the newer marshals towards the back of the office. Shrugging out of his coat, he carefully folded it over his arm and smoothed the front of his jacket.

"Knock knock," he sing-songed through the barred door. Mary didn't budge, nor did she seem to hear him.

"Well, I could stand out here and serenade you," he teased, tamping down irritation, "but I'm sure you don't want the rest of the office to be aware of my intentions."

Mary sighed deeply and gave him a baleful look. Mike cleared his throat and hummed a few notes and she threw her pen onto the desk as she forcefully pushed back her chair to approach the door. Unamused.

"Step back," she ordered.

He complied, then raised his eyebrows in surprise as she stepped through the door instead of allowing him access. Stood in front of him with her arms crossed.

"Let me tell you about your intentions, asshole," Mary began, voice low and mean. "Your intentions are to keep your head down, your mouth shut, and do your job so my partner can get back to doing his. There's no socializing, schmoozing, ass kissing or other specialties of your kind that you think might somehow earn you a spot back into my good graces."

Faber tilted his head and grinned slightly. "And here I thought me traveling all this way might impress upon you my true desire to apologize. You _did_ say you'd like to see me again if I was ever in Albuquerque."

Mary's expression grew a bit darker and she opened her mouth to retort as Stan emerged from his office. She glanced over her shoulder to watch her boss meander towards the copier, turned back to Faber, and jerked her chin in the direction of the lockers before leading the way.

He followed, the clack of her heels on the tile somehow heightening his anticipation as the sway of her hips drew his gaze, and he had to stop suddenly when she whirled on him a safe distance from the anteroom; a hallway and another doorway now hiding them from view.

"Well, this wasn't quite the alone time I was hoping for, Kitten." Faber tossed his jacket and briefcase on one of the low benches. "You know, I stopped by your place last night. You weren't there. I have to say I was disappointed."

Mary crossed her arms as she faced him, posture screaming 'fuck off' in about four different body languages. Faber's gaze was drawn to her enhanced cleavage before returning to her face, and if possible, she tightened her glare.

"You probably thought all your efforts to woo me had paid off, didn't you? Thought that call to Mexico meant I had fallen for your spiel, and I'd swoon at your charming feet, let you have your way with me and then come back for more?"

Faber loosened his tie slightly as he stretched his neck in displeasure. She was mocking him.

"I checked you out, asswipe. Looked you up right after you left town. Did my own personal threat assesment. If I hadn't done it, Marshall would've, and I really didn't want his nose in my business." She chuckled dryly with the statement.

Faber tried for an easy grin and a deep breath. Wanted to throw her off balance. "I expected nothing less of you, pet. And I knew what you'd find. A few dalliances here and there, but then, you've paddled that same boat. Didn't figure you'd mind." He rocked back on his heels and shoved both hands into his pockets.

"We've both played the field, gotten a little muddied up, but I still don't understand your objections to the game. Don't know why you're so…resistant to playing the second half."

"You don't get it, do you?" she asked, eyebrow raised in parry. "You were convenient. A slightly interesting prospect that became a needed distraction when my world went a little crazy. A fling…hook-up…cowboy ride. Nothing more." Mary watched Mike's grin fade and pushed a few more buttons.

"There is no second half because there is no game, Faber. Your halftime entertainment was more than just a wardrobe malfunction, and you were ejected. It's done…_you're_ done."

He raked her with his eyes as his lip curled. "So you say now. You were singing a different tune when you thought you were a woman scorned."

Mary barked a humorless laugh and put her hands on her hips. "Jesus Christ, moron," she spat. "Do you really think it was a quick fuck behind my back I objected to? Are you that stupid?"

Faber pointed a finger at her. "Don't call me stupid," he warned.

She smacked his hand down and leaned in, furiously disregarding his threat. "You fucked a minor, you sick pervert. You tried to deny it, tried to hide it, and I called you out."

He saw red as she dressed him down. The snide tone and belittling posture reminding him of past humiliation. Suave departed for more civilized lands and he traveled over the border into nasty.

"I wouldn't have needed to…accessorize my experience if you had delivered the goods, sweetheart. Needed something young and fresh to brush off the dust."

Mary flushed, but ignored the bait and stepped into his space to growl, "Stop accessorizing from the children's department, Faber. You're sloppy and you're an idiot, and I'd be more than happy to help take you down. I'll hold you face down in the burning coals and watch them walk all over you."

Faber moved quickly and slammed his hand into the locker near Mary's face. She jumped back instinctively and placed her hand on her gun, poised to fight.

"Your mouth," he ground the words out through gritted teeth, "is too big for your face. Don't make me smack it back down to size again." He fisted his hand against the metal surface.

Mary stared at his face, shifted her gaze to his hand and took three steps backward towards the doorway. Faber leaned forward slightly.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. "You're lucky the bruises faded before I got back to the States, and that the Mexican law is too warped to deal with. But know this…your own personal hell awaits you if you touch me again."

He saw something in her eyes that cemented the threat, and Faber remained still as Mary continued to back slowly out of the lockers. He could hear the blood ringing in his ears and closed his eyes to slow his breathing. Slowly, he straightened and smoothed the front of his jacket and shirt. Fixed his hair. By the time he gathered his coat and briefcase, he had managed to affect an air of nonchalance and whistle a low tune. Time to move on.

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Marshall's third look at his watch was well out of the realm of surreptitious and firmly ensconced in the arena of 'I don't have all day.' The evidence clerk couldn't quite decide whether she should refresh her piece of gum or sign out his request, seemingly deaf to his polite prompts. Finally, just as rare impatience flared, the clerk snapped a bubble and pushed the large manila envelope into the receiving basket. He sighed a relieved 'thank you' and trotted towards the elevator. Faber had likely arrived while he was gone and Marshall imagined carnage of Napoleonic proportions. Vlad the Impaler. Freddie.

He cringed and veered left, headed for the stairs instead.

The hallway behind the main office was quiet, and as he walked towards the anteroom with a sigh of relief, Marshall heard voices coming from the lockers. Mary's bark of disbelief. _Uh oh_. Words were being traded, low and angry, and Marshall's gut tightened with concern.

Heel-toeing with care to mask any sound of his approach, Marshall inched forward to stand against the wall within hearing distance. Slowed his breathing to listen. A male voice intoned a question, and Marshall grunted as he identified Mary's opponent. Finally close enough to decipher actual words, he concentrated on his partner's voice.

"_You fucked a minor, you sick pervert. You tried to deny it, tried to hide it, and I called you out."_

Her voice cracked like a whip. No hint of uncertainty or possible room for leverage. Furious. Marshall's brain fumbled the information for a moment, and he curled his lip at the dirty laundry even _his_ synapses didn't want to touch. A minor. The maid. Faber had not only stepped over the bounds of decency, but he sucker punched morality during the process. Hands balling into fists, Marshall waited for the agent's response.

"_I wouldn't have needed to…accessorize my experience if you had delivered the goods, sweetheart. Needed something young and fresh to brush off the dust."_

Marshall tightened his fists with a nearly inaudible growl. Sniveling insults directed at Mary's womanhood pushed a testosterone button rarely used and ignited a territorial torch. A fiery tool of masculine power he wanted to shove into Faber's face; watch the man scream and try to beat out the flames. He flared his nostrils as his rational mind tried to talk him down; reminded him that Faber provoked people for a living. The agent had chosen words sure to twist and carve at the psyche.

_Don't take the bait, Mary_, he mentally coached. _He's just trying to get you to tip your hand._

Her responding low growl was just barely audible, and Marshall unconsciously stepped towards the doorway to hear the words.

"_Stop accessorizing from the children's department, Faber. You're sloppy and you're an idiot, and I'd be more than happy to help take you down. I'll hold your face down in the burning coals and watch them walk all over you."_

Marshall silently cheered as his partner threatened life and limb. It never ceased to amaze him; her seemingly blasé approach to mores and social norms that could turn on a dime to become righteous anger. There were invisible lines that should not be crossed. He was drawn to that sense of justice from the day he met her. _Well, maybe a few days after that._ A sly grin rippled across his face. Provoking Mary was about as wise as riding a pogo stick into a mine field; you only needed to hit one mine, and there wouldn't be much left. _If you survive at all._

His mental cheer was rudely interrupted by a loud slam. Senses alert, Marshall leaned onto the balls of his feet in anticipation as he could almost feel the shift of emotion in the air. Anger had taken a dark turn and now he was nervous.

"_Your mouth is too big for your face. Don't make me smack it back down to size again."_

The threat seemed to reverberate through his skull; his vision narrowing to the doorway through which the voice of reason had just lost all hope of escape. _…smack it back down to size again. …again._

Mary's carefully veiled reluctance to discuss Mexico beyond the generalities. Her outright hostility towards the agent when he had arrived. Her flinch with his reach. Somehow, at some point, the confrontation over the maid had become physical. Heated beyond the verbal boiling point and the man had laid hands on her. On Mary.

Faber's words clung to him like an oily residue that reeked of cowardice. A miasma that would only be washed off by some cleansing ritual of retribution. The marshal was brought back to awareness by pinpoints of pain as his nails dug into his palms. Sensing movement in the doorway, he quickly side-stepped back towards the main office as Mary's voice reached him.

"_Don't even think about it. You're lucky the bruises faded before I got back to the States, and that the Mexican law is too warped to deal with. But know this…your own personal hell awaits you if you touch me again."_

Barely noticing his own actions, Marshall jogged across the linoleum to key himself into the office and sit at his desk before Mary cleared the hallway. He gripped the underside of his desk drawer in an attempt to ground himself in the present; funneled the roiling rage he wanted to direct towards Faber into the cheap metal and took some comfort in its groan of protest.

_Breathe. Calm down. Play it cool, and don't let her know you overheard._

Mary was a woman who fought her own battles. A lifetime of carving her own notches in her belt and wiping the blood from her knuckles had molded a sense of pride that she'd no more give up than her witnesses. She wouldn't hand that to him, or any man. Even if he asked. Especially if he asked.

Despite his willingness to wait for her to toss him a vengeful bone, Marshall knew that this time a scrap wouldn't do. He needed to sink his teeth into the meat…rend tissue…bury what was left. His knees hurt from where they were pressed into the corner of his desk, and he hurriedly relaxed his posture as Mary approached the office door. By the time she blew by his desk like a Nor'easter, he had managed a semblance of busyness that she readily ignored.

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***** Uh oh...will Marshall's desk survive the onslaught? :) So...what can he do? Will Mary tell him about the conversation? Will Marshall get a chance to confront Faber? How old *was* that maid, anyway? What do you think...should I let Marshall have Faber? Please REVIEW and let me know! *****


	4. The best laid plans

***** The stage is set, the motivation has been established...so when does the action start? Marshall's hands are tied at the moment, and Mary's stewing too. Faber's a pro at working the system, but can he even avoid this horseman of the apocalypse? The agenda isn't always set...*****

*****I continue to thank you all for your wonderful reviews!*****

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_**The forces of retribution are always listening. They never sleep.**_

_**– Meg Greenfield**_

_**May the table set before them become a snare; may it become retribution and a trap.**_

_**– Psalm 69: 21-23**_

_**

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**_

Marshall watched her in his periphery; assessed her physical and mental state. Aggravated and slightly off balance, Mary moved things around on her desk without purpose for a few minutes before rubbing her face with her hands and settling into her chair. Sighing and muttering under her breath, she settled on opening her mail with vigor, one knee bouncing with a visible tell of continued tension. He wanted to check the motion; to provide a balm of some sort. He stared at her knee.

_She had somehow become tangled in his legs, her head resting upon his abdomen with her tangled, blonde hair splayed over his pelvis. Comforting and tantalizingly arousing at the same time. Her arm lay stretched up to his chest and he slowly ran his fingers over her fine-boned digits and hand. He sighed slightly as he saw the reddened cuticles on a number of fingers, a visible measure of her level of stress, and gently brought the fingers to his lips for a whisper of a kiss. Smoothing her arm back against his chest, he reached her forearm and marveled that he could completely wrap his hand around the well toned limb. Deceptive strength there. Coiled tightly and not to be underestimated despite the small girth._

_Mary hummed sleepily with the tactile stimulation, and her fingers twitched against his chest as her head nestled more securely into his belly. The small, contented movements in the graying dawn infused him with a feeling of intense protectiveness that surprised him. He knew the perils she faced every day, same as his own, but this day he wanted her close to him. Behind him. She was being hunted. Reaching down to hold her to him, Marshall silently renewed his vow as her keeper. Her protector. Her lover_.

"Helloooo?" Faber's voice wrenched him from the early morning memory like nails on a chalkboard.

The agent was standing at the doorway, a patronizing, smug smile on his face as he stared at Marshall. "Really, both of you are going to ignore me now? Did she forbid you to talk to me today?"

Marshall glanced at his partner before slowly turning to face Faber. Mary had pointedly repositioned her chair to present the man at the door with a view of her back. Schooling his face into false indifference, Marshall pushed himself out of his seat to take the three steps that would bring him to the door.

He needed to treat the man on the other side as he would a particularly unsavory witness; with forced politeness held in place by the knowledge that the interaction was of finite length and not to be repeated in the near future. There could be no hint that he had overheard the discussion in the lockers, no tell to tip his hand before he was ready to confront the man. And Marshall didn't yet know when that would be, but it would be soon. Face to face. Private. A corner of his mouth turned up slightly with the thought.

"Agent Faber," he stated formally. "Please help yourself to some coffee and get settled in the conference room. I've got some pressing issues to address yet this morning, but we'll get underway shortly."

Marshall watched Faber assess him with slightly narrowed eyes and hurried to throw off any suspicion. Motioning towards the kitchen, Marshall raised his eyebrows and shared a feigned commiserating look with the agent. "Please…there's some Danish too. I'm sure you know how it is some days…too much work and too few to do it."

Faber, seemingly appeased, shifted his briefcase to the other hand and patted Marshall on the shoulder with a sigh. "Ah yes, yes I do. Some of us are expected to pull more than just our own weight." His eyes slid pointedly to Mary, then he looked back at Marshall with a wink as he turned towards the kitchen.

Marshall felt his eye start to twitch with the touch and the insulting comment, and seriously wondered if the ramifications for smashing the man's face in immediately would really be all that bad. Just a quick release of pent-up fury that would leave the slime with a severely stained shirt and a plastic surgery bill that would strain the agent's salary. It would only take a moment…just a quick twitch…_Je ne te quitterai point que je ne t'aie__vu pendu_.

"You _are_ aware that the Danish over there is about three days old, right?" Mary's voice cut into the brief silence following Faber's departure, shattering Marshall's thoughts.

Marshall looked at her questioningly, brow furrowed. "What?"

She studied him. Leaned forward to put her elbows on her desk with a tilt of her head and furrowed brow. "Are you okay? That's not a look I see often…and not in the office."

He took a deep breath to calm runaway emotions. "What look?"

"The one that usually causes grown men to shit their pants." Mary followed Marshall's prior gaze towards the kitchen. "Granted, the recipient is a worthy candidate, but you're usually a bit more subtle. Something you'd like to share?" She raised a suspicious brow as her eyes slid back to him.

Turning back to his desk, Marshall took the time afforded to him to cover the distance to mull over responses in his mind. He wasn't quick enough.

"This better not still be about our conversation last night, Marshall," Mary sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're fixating and it's pissing me off. This is not about you."

"You know it's partially about me, Mary, because it's about you." She opened her mouth to respond and he held up a finger as he sunk into his seat. "But I know better than to fight your battles. There were some disturbing reports in the intel bulletins this morning and I'm just sorting out some brain poison. Faber doesn't help." He purposefully turned his attention to the keyboard and began to type. He could feel her staring at him.

"Fine," she said, less than convincingly. "He's gone by lunch and we don't need to talk about it after that."

Marshall just nodded in her direction and bent to an assumed task. He was hoping she'd read his reaction as preoccupation and leave him alone. He needed to think. To plan. He could feel her eyes boring into him.

"When, exactly, did you get into the office -" Mary's question was mercifully interrupted as Stan emerged from his office.

"Mary, Marshall," he began, still squinting at the message pad he held, "there's been a fairly verifiable report that Tommy Forrest and an unidentified female have been seen frequenting a Motel 6 in the Coors and Central neighborhood."

Stan looked up to meet Mary's eye with the announcement. She grimaced slightly and sent Marshall a suffering look. "Yeah," Stan continued, "my thoughts exactly. Not a neighborhood any kid needs to be hanging around in, much less a kid with no street cred and little experience holding his own."

"I guess I'll go get him, then," Mary sighed, shrugging into her jacket and checking her gun and extra clip. "Do you want me to take Charlie or Nate?" The two younger inspectors had been doing ride-alongs as part of their probation period.

"I want you to take Marshall," Stan said. Both inspectors raised their eyebrows, paused in their respective tasks as they waited for clarification. "I just don't have a good feel about this, Mary, and I want you two together."

Ten minutes were wasted with Mary's ineffectual arguments about the perceived mistrust in her abilities, Stan's rebuttals and stern orders, and Marshall battling relief and disappointment while trying to stay out of the way. He was going to forego his chance to mete out some form of justice against Faber in order to accompany his partner without second thought, but a primal force within him screamed 'foul!' His only hope lie in a quick resolution of the hunt for an errant child, and a return to home base for the final play of the game.

Marshall took one last look into the conference room as he and Mary readied to leave the office. Stan had evidently approached Faber with the change of plans, and the agent stared steadily at the departing inspectors as Mary stabbed at the button for the elevator. The doors slid open and Marshall placed a hand on her lower back to prompt her access as he broke eye contact with the other man. Allowing his hand to slide south and rest on the upper curve of her jean clad ass, Marshall smirked as he knew Faber was noting every downward inch.

/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\

"Jesus," Mary said, exasperated, "we deal with tweaked out meth heads for two hours, make two teenagers cry and barely avoid World War III at the Forrest's crappy house and we have to come back here to this?" She was glaring at the tableau in the conference room.

Marshall followed her gaze to take in Stan and Charlie talking with Faber as the agent began to place file folders back in his briefcase. Charlie was perched on the edge of the conference room table, laughing as Faber must have told some form of a joke. Stan smiled wanly, his eyes noting the arrival of Marshall and Mary; particularly Mary. Presumably excusing himself as Charlie and Faber continued to chat, Stan ducked out to approach his returning inspectors.

"The safe house passed with flying colors. All the i's are dotted and the t's crossed and the FBI is just waiting to send us the latest and greatest criminal too good to pass up." Stan's lighthearted tone of voice didn't match his serious visage.

"Great," mumbled Mary as she slid past the shorter man. "More trash for the FBI's dumping grounds. Fitting that they'd send Faber for the job."

Stan turned slowly to continue to face her and cleared his throat, "He had some nice pictures of a Mexican beach…with you on it." The words stilled Mary's movements.

Marshall watched the color drain from Mary's face, and she clenched her jaw as she stared down at her desk. The silence in the room was punctuated by the muffled scrape of chairs being repositioned in the conference room, and Marshall glanced up to see Faber smirk as he watched Stan out of the corner of his eye. Marshall knew the color was rising in his own neck as his body grew hot with anger. _Bastard_.

Mary audibly sucked air in through her nose and looked up at Stan defiantly. "It was _my_ vacation. _My_ time." A quick glance at Marshall before looking back at her boss. "And, as you can most certainly tell, it's in the past."

Stan stepped close to her desk and ran his fingers along the edge as he pondered her words. Watched the trail he traced as Mary waited.

"I'm not judging, Mary," he finally said, looking up at her. "But there're things about Agent Faber that are…concerning. I know his father fairly well. If you need something…" he trailed off with the offer, rapping on her desk once with his knuckles before stepping back.

Marshall's gut churned at Mary's obvious distress and the implications behind Stan's statement. Another short, shared laugh between Charlie and Faber reached his ears, and Marshall's decision was made for him. Quietly excusing himself, he pivoted to step out of the office on a path towards the restrooms. Mary watched him until he was out of sight before replying to Stan.

"Everything's fine, Stan, thanks," she said simply, accepting her boss' nod and eventual retreat as the last time she'd hear the issue addressed.

/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/

Faber let himself out of the suddenly emptied office as Charlie shared a parting joke and wandered back to his desk. Mary was not to be seen, and he nodded at an inattentive Stan as the older man was immersed in an intense conversation on the phone. It was too quiet. Mike wasn't used to the inactivity of the Marshal's office; better suited for the hustle and bustle of the busy Federal Building in Denver. There was no chance at social advancement here, no visual cues of social status or badges of power that he could use to plot the proper interactions to bring him closer to the inner circles. No skirts. No cleavage. Just work. Shuddering slightly with a grimace, he charted a course for the restroom.

He had planned to drive as far as Sante Fe for the afternoon, possibly do some shopping at the turquoise vendors for a bauble for Cassie. The thought of the young office intern in the tight pencil skirts caused his lips to twitch into a grin, and he picked up his pace. Rounding the corner towards the back hallway, he had a random thought and slowed again.

He hadn't seen Marshall leave. Mary's partner disappeared sometime after the pair returned, but Faber couldn't remember how long he had been gone. The thought made him pause; not that he viewed the man as a threat, geeks had fallen before him before, but sometimes it was just better to know where all the checkers in the game were positioned. Less chance of getting…jumped. And he liked his latest Armani suit; brushed, smoky gray wool blend with just a hint of pinstripe. It would be a shame to wrinkle it while teaching Marshall a lesson.

_Boy is probably licking his wounds somewhere in the recesses of the locker room_. Faber entertained himself with the thought as he picked up his pace. The marshal's proprietary move earlier that day still irked him, but he doubted there was much to it other than show. He had no idea what Mary would see in the man. There was no flair. No desire to be Best in Show. The man existed in the plane of unnoticeably normal, and Mike just couldn't imagine Mary showing the slightest bit of interest in a conquest without a peacock feather to his name…much less sleep with him. Shaking his head with inappropriate images of limp dicks, Faber shouldered his way into the men's room.

* * *

*****Well now...this could get pretty interesting pretty quickly! I can't believe Faber showed Stan and Charlie pics of he and Mary in Mexico. I bet Mary didn't even *know* he had pics. Da bastard. Marshall's just about ready to take this guy apart. Stay tuned! And please...REVIEW! Love them :) *****

*****_Je ne te quitterai point que je ne t'aie__vu pendu - _I will not leave you until I have seen you hanged.**


	5. Cowboy justice

*****Hang on to your hats, boys and girls, it's gonna get messy! The show we've all been waiting for :) *****

*****Thanks to my fellow fight choreographers: RJ, Roar and DV! *****

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_**"Revenge is a kind of wild justice."**_

_**– Frances Bacon, Sr**_

_**The trouble he causes recoils on himself; his violence comes down on his own head.**_

_**– Psalm 7: 15-17**_

_**

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**_

Faber whistled an almost remembered tune as he exited the Sunshine Building into its nearly blinding namesake. Fishing his D&G's out of his pocket, he positioned them jauntily on his face with a toss of his head, smiling rakishly at a pair of younger office girls entering the front doors from lunch. One of them appreciated him with her eyes, and Mike preened even more. Maybe two days in Albuquerque ought not be dismissed so quickly. The local fauna could prove interesting.

He was feeling particularly self satisfied and victorious. Not only had he gotten himself out of a potentially messy situation with the marshals, but he had managed to bring Mary down yet another notch and render Marshall nearly impotent. _The man couldn't actually think he could run in the same race, could he? Keep up with me?_ Faber chuckled as his feet tapped along the sidewalk along the front of the building towards the visitor's parking spots. It was almost too easy to leave the two of them looking like subservient fools.

He didn't notice that the black SUV backed into the space which blocked his car from view was USMS issued. Rounding the tailgate, Faber slowed to a halt at the sight before him.

Marshall leaned back against the driver's side door of Faber's car as if he had all day and every reason to be there. Casually eating sunflower seeds out of a small bag, he leisurely manipulated the morsel in his mouth before expertly spitting the wet, empty shell onto the hood of the agent's car. The activity had been going on for at least a few minutes, as a small scattering of drying shells decorated the smooth finish of the sports car; two stuck to the windshield itself. Aviator shades firmly in place, Marshall stared across the parking lot as if the afternoon traffic held the answers to the universe. Focused.

Faber felt the warmth of anger infuse his neck as he assessed the man against the car. A blatant display of territorial challenge, Mike wondered why Marshall just didn't pee all over the leather and be done with it. He couldn't believe he was going to have to deal with this shit now. In public. Glancing about, he assured himself there was no one in view of the cars as he stretched his neck and shrugged his shoulders.

'_Suffer fools gladly' my ass_, Mike thought as he began a cautious approach.

"It's nice isn't it?" Faber said, knowing Marshall was aware of his presence even though the taller man didn't look at him. He ran his hand over the trunk as he popped it open. He wasn't going to leave the sidewalk yet, and was glad he backed into the space. There was another car adjacent to the passenger side, it and the SUV hemming in the low slung sports coupe as if it was a hot dog on a too large bun. The space was slightly claustrophobic and Mike continued to talk as he weighed his options. "A 2008 BMW Z4 with 3.0 L I6 and 255 hp engine. I've had it up to 150 on the open road." Marshall's bag of seeds rustled as the man continued to eat.

Placing his briefcase in the trunk, Faber then stood near the tail light and grinned at the marshal. "It's pathetic, really," he said with a 'tsk', "that you even envy my rides _outside_ of the bedroom."

Marshall could see the agent's reflection in the window of the SUV in front of him, the man standing nonchalantly behind the sports car…apparently unperturbed. Marshall watched Faber mentally calculate the proximity of the cars adjacent to his own, noted the agent check his natural tendency to step down off the curb to approach the driver's side door. Small tells of wariness. A corner of his mouth lifted into a tight curl of a smile as he placed the next seed into his mouth. _Step into my parlor…_

He waited until a low-slung pickup with booming bass slid through the intersection before engaging in the game. "I see you're still wearing out the coattails of dear 'ole Dad's good graces." Another shell landed on the hood. "At least one of you has good taste."

Faber grimaced and raised his face to the sky for a moment with a deep breath as he shoved his hands into his pant's pockets. "Well, more than I can say for you, sadly." He slowly stepped down onto the asphalt and leaned one hip against the back of the car. "Although I guess I'm not surprised you'd be satisfied with sloppy seconds."

Marshall crushed the seed in his mouth, shell and all, anger flaring at Faber's base insult. _Wait for it,_ he warned himself. _Not yet._ Forcing a wry chuckle, Marshall tilted his head to glance at the agent. "You know what's sloppy, Mike? Hanging your laundry out to dry for everyone to see without first checking the underwear for stains."

Faber barked a quick laugh and slowly shook his head, his stance relaxing slightly. "This is about a few pictures on my phone? Seriously, Marshall, what bothers you the most? The fact that she took me to Mexico instead of you? Or that I have proof?" He pulled one hand out of his pocket to study his manicure. "Because if you're worried about Mary's honor, I can assure you that flower hasn't had any petals for a while."

Marshall's patience dwindled to a point as his gut began to burn with fury. It was time to end this farce and send the agent crawling back to Denver with his tail between his legs. He slowly rolled the bag of seeds closed and placed them back into his jacket pocket. Faber watched, eyes tightening with apprehension as Marshall turned slowly towards him. The marshal's eyes were hidden behind his glasses, but the set of his jaw displayed his raw emotion.

"What other pictures do you have, Faber?" Marshall asked. Faber squinted in confusion. "Pictures of hotel rooms and dirty sheets? Maids?" Confusion morphed into shock, just for an instant, then Faber's sneer was back in place.

"I knew she told you _something_," Mike drawled, eyeing Marshall carefully.

Marshall decreased the distance between them by a short stride and watched Faber adjust his stance accordingly. "The acoustics in a locker room are especially favorable for those standing in an empty hallway."

Faber felt a thin trickle of sweat meander down the center of his back as he mentally replayed the conversation with Mary that morning. If Marshall had heard about the maid…

The agent's face displayed his growing discomfort, his small purposeless movements hinting at a building anxiety. Marshall popped the one last seed he held in his hand into his mouth.

"You're not just a leach, Faber," Marshall growled, words dripping disgust. "You're a remora that hangs off the nearest kissable ass. A shriveled up coward that gets off on children and can't even satisfy a real woman." Marshall huffed a disgusted snort, shaking his head in dismissal. "All you got is your temper and your fists…nothing more than a petulant, spoiled child." He punctuated his statement by cleanly spitting the final seed onto Faber's chest.

Faber had barely reached towards Marshall when the other man's hand grabbed his wrist with lightning speed. Lurching forward with the momentum of Marshall's move, Faber only had time to grunt in pain as his wrist was manipulated towards his forearm while he was spun to face the car; arm pushed up behind his back in a painful manner he was only too familiar with. He knew what would come next and tensed to make the countermove.

Marshall moved fluidly, no hesitation during the snatch or the twist, and as he wrenched Faber's arm was up towards his shoulder blades and used his momentum to turn him towards the car, he felt the agent shift his stance. Using his own leg to destabilize the back of one of Faber's knees, Marshall swiftly bore his weight onto Faber's back, reached his other hand to palm the back of the agent's head, and slammed the man's face into the gleaming, silver surface of the luxury automobile. A quick shift of his shoulders, and Marshall uttered a satisfying grunt as the sickening sound of joint dislocation reached his ears. Faber yelled weakly into the metal as Marshall leaned down to offer advice, repositioning his grip.

"Didn't you see that coming, Mike? Did I catch you off guard? Maybe you need a mirror to check all the angles?" Faber groaned slightly as Marshall pulled his head upwards, the agent's free hand scrabbling to grab the windshield wiper.

Continuing to lean into Faber, Marshall swept one ankle out swiftly to catch Faber's leg and pull it towards him. The agent toppled quickly, succumbing to both gravity and pain, and as he was pushed towards the ground, Marshall guided the side of his head into the side mirror. Faber rebounded slightly from the blow, and Marshall released him to watch him fall heavily to the asphalt, half supported by the car door as the man actually whimpered and rocked on his knees.

Not quite satisfied, Marshall shoved the agent completely over with one boot to a thigh and squatted next to the now prone, profusely bleeding man. Careful to avoid dirt or blood, Marshall pulled aside Faber's jacket to unhook his phone from his belt. He released the SIM card, tucking the small piece of plastic into his own pocket, and tucked the cell back under Mike's writhing form.

"_Those_ do not belong to _you_, little boy," Marshall hissed. Grinding the agent's cheek into the tar as he used his head for leverage, Marshall pushed back to standing, slightly amused by the sound of teeth scraping asphalt.

Faber grabbed for Marshall's ankle and the taller man lazily kicked the hand aside as he stepped over the crumpled figure. Turning to look at the agent on the ground once he reached the sidewalk, Marshall sighed heavily with the sight. It had almost been too easy. He looked up to peer at the blue sky, the long hours of sunshine finally easing the chill of the previous week and clearing the cobwebs from his brain. A good day.

"I wonder what Mary wants me to bring home for dinner tonight?" Marshall mused aloud, discounting the grunt from the direction of the pavement in front of him. "Hmm…she's been talking about Chinese…" he turned to saunter back towards the doors of the Sunshine Building.

* * *

*****Yeehaw! The cowboy wins :) God, that felt GOOD! Well...are you satisfied? Let me know...please REVIEW! Hmmm...I wonder if Mary will find out? *****


	6. What's mine is yours

*****Ahhhh...the final chapter, just in the nick of time :D Faber is gone, our duo is together...and peace shall reign? Well...read on and see! *****

*****A final thanks to all my fabulous readers! Your reviews, encouragement, critiques and support are why I keep on writing! ***

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_**If little faults proceeding on distemper shall not be winked at, how shall we stretch our eye, when capital crimes, chewed, swallowed and digested appear before us?**_

– _**King Henry V**_

_**learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.**_

– _**Isaiah 1:17

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**_

Mary gathered up the pile of laundry from the floor of her room with a grumble and curse. She and Marshall had been staying at his place for the past week, and her only excursions into home territory had been for a quick re-packing or restocking of personal items. Consequently, the layers of laundry on the floor were now starting to resemble an archeological dig.

Not having bothered to clean it up before she and her partner had eagerly attacked the bed, both needing the stress relief after the particularly trying day, Mary had grimaced after seeing the mess when she emerged from her shower. Mr. Fastidious had probably counted the number of socks, divided them by the number of pairs of underwear, and calculated some dirty garment ratio that would earn her a little sigh later on.

"Well, buddy, you're the one who wanted messy," Mary muttered as she decided to add his jeans and shirts to the pile also. Might as well make use of the oversized washer the FBI had so kindly, if unknowingly, financed with the home repairs.

She eyeballed her partner sitting at the computer in the study as she shuffled towards the laundry room. He seemed engrossed in some report or other, and Mary stopped to study the slightly hunched form bathed in the yellow glow of the desk light. One long finger traced and re-traced a slow line from his brow to the tip of his nose, an unconscious gesture that told her he wasn't really seeing what was on the screen. Lost in thought…or at least devising alternate routes. His jaw tightened with a sudden grunt, and he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relieve tension as he emerged from his reverie; caught a glimpse of her standing there out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey. You need help?" Marshall asked, noting the laundry.

Mary smiled and winked. "Got it covered. But you'll be folding because I'm not getting back up after I plant my ass on the couch with a beer." She turned to continue towards the kitchen. "And turn that damned computer off, nitwit. It's the weekend."

"Give me a few," he replied, returning to his task, "I just need to pop off a few emails." He allowed himself to grin slightly as he finished the last few lines. _Make sure I've covered all my bases,_ he thought.

Marshall doubted Faber would say a word to anyone about what really happened in the parking lot, the agent's ego wounded beyond repair and facing almost assured ridicule if he tried to measure his honor against Marshall's, but a few simple reminders of favors owed and now repaid would waylay any unwise attempts. Marshall studied his hands again after launching the missive into cyberspace and logging off._Nope, not a scratch._ He smiled.

/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\

Mary loaded the washer fairly indiscriminately. If it wasn't blindingly white, it was colored, and everything but Marshall's undershirt was going to join the ride this time. She picked up his jeans, shook them out, and stared curiously at her foot as a small item fell out of a pocket.

_What is that?_ she wondered, leaning down to pick it up. Eyebrows raised as she studied the item, she realized she was holding a SIM card. Mary tilted her head slightly as she tried to recall whether Marshall had talked about any issues with his phone. In fact, she remembered, he had received a few calls since the jeans were off, so it wasn't even the card from _his_ phone anyway. Shrugging, she placed it on the dryer to take to him after getting the load running. Tucking the jeans onto the top of the pile in the washer, yet another small anomaly caught her eye.

The cuff of one leg of Marshall's jeans had a few dark smears marring the fabric. She squinted at the stains for a moment, then ran her thumb over one. Stiff. Flaky. It looked like blood. Mary stood still for a few minutes, brow drawn and gaze shifting randomly as she tried to recollect any injury within the last few weeks that would've caused Marshall to have blood on his jeans. On the pant cuff of his jeans. Shaking her head slightly, she realized every inch of his body had been explored quite thoroughly by her own hands within that time, and he _had_ no injuries. And it wasn't hers…_Then whose blood_…

Her mouth dropped open slightly as she recalled an overheard conversation earlier in the day. Two secretaries chatting while refilling their coffee in the cafeteria.

"_Hey, Rita. Did you hear about that guy that got mugged in the parking lot earlier?"_

"_Jesus, yes! How fucking creepy is that? I heard he was from out of town. Some fancy-ass schmuck with a hot car."_

"_Donna thought it was the same guy who was hitting on Jane earlier. The one with the high dollar get-up..."_

At the time, Mary had a moment's thought that the women were talking about Faber, then immediately discounted the idea. The description fit, but he surely would have made a reappearance in the office to voice his displeasure had he been assaulted. There would've been rants about piss poor security, demands for compensation, both physical and monetary, and reports filed detailing the lack of protection for high profile out of town guests. No one would've had to guess who had been mugged. Faber would've made sure his name was well known by the end of the day. No, that drama queen would've pitched a fit to rival one of her mother's.

Now, however, as she held a soiled garment in her hands, Mary's mind dredged up the fading voices of the women as they trailed out of sight.

"…_and I guess he was a bloody mess. Laying on the ground with his face all smashed up…"_

Mary could almost hear the tumblers in the lock falling into place. Marshall's expression of utter contempt that morning when Faber entered the office. The anger he radiated when Stan mentioned the pictures. Marshall's escape to the restroom soon after…and he hadn't come back. Not until Faber had been gone for some time. He claimed he had been waylaid by one of the intel analysts, but didn't elaborate.

Faber wouldn't have come back up if he was incapable of the feat. If he had been disabled to the point of just being thankful he could still breathe. If someone had beaten the crap out him quickly and effectively. A someone whose presence and skill would deter an ass-kissing, peacock strutting idiot from ever admitting to such an inglorious and embarrassing outcome.

Mary found herself staring out the laundry room door in the direction of her partner's last known position, still holding the jeans in her hands. "Son of a bitch…" she whispered.

/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\

Marshall had traded the glowing screen of the computer for the larger, more hi-def images of Mary's TV when he felt her come up behind him, standing silently.

"CSI:NY or the Yankees game?" he asked, remote at ready.

Mary's hand gently gripped the back of his neck, kneading slightly, and she leaned in over the back of the couch to place her head next to his. Marshall stiffened, senses on heightened alert for some reason.

"You know what I want to see?" she murmured, her breath tickling his ears.

"Um…no?" he replied, wary of her tone. She sounded predatory, and he was loath to move.

"I want to see your hands." Her grip on the back of his neck tightened with the slow command.

He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but Mary must've had an epiphany sometime between the fill and spin cycle. He knew why she wanted to see his hands. Hoping to avoid any further discussion or suspicion, he held them up without question or protest.

"I swear I washed them after I went to the bathroom, if that's what you're worried about," he teased. He dutifully turned them palm up to complete the inspection.

Mary shifted her weight, leaning forward to gently place an object on his left palm, then drew completely back and crossed her arms over her chest. Waiting.

Marshall stared at the SIM card from Faber's phone. Tangible proof of nothing but possibly pilfered technology, but he somehow knew his partner was waiting for an explanation beyond petty thievery.

"And in case you were thinking of spinning a story involving IT and lewd bets, there was also blood on the pant leg of your jeans that I know doesn't belong to either of us." A pause as she gave him a chance to gather his thoughts. "Sometimes I _do_ listen to the office gossip, and you're good for this one. Talk fast, and talk smart…because I haven't decided how I feel about this yet."

He flicked the SIM card onto the coffee table, turning to look at her as the plastic skittered across the wood. True to her words, her face morphed through a number of emotions while she stood there staring back at him. Anger…confusion…a hint of amusement that threatened to emerge.

Marshall reached out to place a hand on her forearm. "Come around here. I'll get a crick in my neck talking to you back there." He fastened his fingers around one wrist and guided her reluctant form around the arm of the couch to stand in front of him.

"Do you remember the movie Henry V?" he asked.

Mary narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. "Marshall…"

He still controlled one of her arms, and he began to knead her fingers softly. "The English army was greatly outnumbered as they faced the elite of the French forces in the countryside of Agincourt. The English were tired and sick, weary from months of fighting without proper supplies or weapons. Underdogs. Doomed to certain death and misery with little to no chance for glory. But the king, Henry, rode out in front of his army with sword in hand and a taste for French blood. He whipped the men into a patriotic frenzy, made them feel as though they could conquer the world, with the French army being a small obstacle. One of the greatest speeches of all time."

"Get to the point, Marshall," Mary complained, testing his grip slightly. She wasn't sure why she was still listening.

Tugging back, Marshall urged her forward a few more steps until she had to straddle his knees, shins against the couch. He continued the story in a soothing voice, "The English launched one of the most impressive offensive strikes of all land battles. Systematically slaughtered the French through superior long bow strategy, terrain advantages and simple will to live. But they nearly faltered at one point, nearly lost their momentum and upper hand." He held her gaze until she raised one eyebrow. "The French broke the rules of engagement. Committed an act of such heinous cowardice that even the most battle weary of soldiers were appalled. They sent men behind the English lines. Attacked the pages, the young boys who tended the horses and kept the supplies. Slaughtered them despite the fact that some weren't even old enough to heft a sword.

"The King got word of the act, rallied his army, and turned their rage and pain into retribution for those who had no recourse. He took no prisoners and offered no pardon, because victory had to be complete. Justice had to be served."

She stared at him as the meaning behind his story became clear.

"I'm not a little boy, Marshall," Mary stated softly. "And I'm not defenseless." She carefully climbed onto the couch, one knee folded beside each of his thighs, and sat gingerly on his knees as she faced him. "And we really need to talk about your delusions of grandeur."

Marshall grinned in relief as she bypassed anger. "I never used the word 'defenseless.' The boys fought back with everything they had. I said they had no recourse. No one to help them at the time and no way to make it stop." He rested his hands on her thighs, silently delighting in the small play of muscles beneath his palms. "He wasn't going to stop, Mare. He was going to torment you and throw it in your face every chance he could get."

She sighed and rolled her lips between her teeth as she relaxed into his lap, confusion still present in her eyes. "It was a couple of pictures, idiot. I hardly think it would garner much interest beyond the size of my ass. I just can't figure out why it set you off like that. Especially like that. Please tell me he won't have to file for disability."

A short chuckle, and Marshall reached up to rub her upper arms with reassurance. "He'll want to avoid the mirror for a few weeks…or months…but I left him intact."

"Mary," he began reluctantly, sighed and stared past her at the silent images on the screen. "It wasn't just the pictures…or what you had told me." Memories of overheard words tightened his features.

"Then what?" she asked.

Marshall pulled his gaze back to her face as he traced circles on her biceps with his thumbs. "I overheard a good portion of your conversation in the locker room."

She stiffened with his words and dropped her gaze. A slight flush infused her cheeks, and Marshall watched as she built up to a reaction. Affronted by the breach in privacy, yet undecided as to the level of embarrassment at being caught in a lie.

"You should've told me," he admonished quietly.

Mary's eyes snapped up to his. "Why? It was over and done and I'd just as rather forget about it. None of your business, really."

Marshall repositioned his hands onto her hips to foil any attempted escape. "We kind of touched on that earlier today, remember? _You're_ my business. What's done to you is my business. And sometimes, there's a need for…retribution."

"Jesus, Marshall." Mary gave him a warning look. "What is this? You, Tarzan…me, Jane? Because your ass will be sleeping in the yard if I think you're saying I belong to you."

"No one could possess you, Mary," he assured her, slowly working his fingers under the hem of her tank top, "but you _are_ mine…" Marshall heard her intake of breath as his fingers reached her skin, and his hands encircled her waist as he urged her forward into his lap.

"Mine to care for…" His fingers traced up over her ribcage, and he watched her eyes darken. "Mine to protect…" Mary ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders to lace her hands behind his neck; wiggled herself snugly against him and he groaned, "Mine…"

"Tell me why I'm not chewing you a new one for this blatant display of Neanderthal nonsense?" Mary murmured distractedly as Marshall nuzzled her neck.

"'Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better.'" Marshall quoted, offering a claim to her also.

"Of course," he said, grinning, "if I'm yours, that means you have to take care of me. Feed me, walk me…" he trailed off with a groan, his gaze captured by Mary's skin as she pulled her tank top off over her head.

"Mmm…" she hummed as his fingers brushed against the undersides of her breasts, delighted by his fascination. "Teach you tricks. Then we'll talk about my spectator privileges the next time this happens."

"Mmmhmm." Marshall ignored her as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in to taste her, encouraged by her gasp of pleasure.

"Oh, I like this," he murmured. "This is mine too."

Mary buried her fingers in his hair with a moan, all protests and discussion forgotten on a whisper as Marshall's lips and tongue possessed her. "It's all yours."

* * *

***** Wheeee! and the curtain closes on our little play :) Oh, to have a Marshall to belong to...*sigh* I hope you enjoyed the story! I feel better...don't know about you! :) Please, please, please leave your final thoughts in a REVIEW! I so love them *****

*****Marshall's quote was from King Henry in Henry V (rent the movie...it's AWESOME) *****


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